Even Monsters have a Social
by emebalia
Summary: When two supposed to be dead mass murderers cross path with their latest number the case seems pretty clear to John.
1. Chapter 1

**Even Monsters have a Social**

Harold Finch's narration over the intro:

_You are being watched. The government has a secret system, a machine that spies on you every hour of every day. I designed the machine to detect acts of terror but it sees everything. Violent crimes involving ordinary people. The Government considers these people "irrelevant". We don't. Hunted by the authorities, we work in secret. You'll never find us, but victim or perpetrator, if your number's up... we'll find _you.

* * *

John stood on the roof top from where he had a good view on Rachel Martin's apartment. He watched her hurrying from one room to the other, getting dressed and ready to leave her place.

Her name was Rachel Martin and her number had come up. That was what John knew about her, that and the fact she wore pink underwear and at some level John knew he should feel like a stalker but this was part of the job and he was probably here to save her life, so if that meant he had to spy on her when she came out of the bathroom in pink underwear than be it.

"Rachel Martin." Finch's voice was loud and clear over the ear piece. "Age 37, single, lives alone."

"I figured that much, Finch." John replied and shot another picture of her grabbing the keys. The apartment was small and so far he hadn't seen any sign of another person. She didn't even have a cat. "Looks like she's ready to leave."

"Her shift at the hospital starts in about an hour." Finch supplied.

"I'll have a look around her place before I follow her to the hospital." John turned around to get to the street in time to get close enough to her to get the connection to her phone. She didn't spare him a second glance when he passed her. She was late, the drive to the hospital would take her forty minutes at least, if she was lucky.

John watched her while she got in the car and then pulled out of the lot in front of the apartment complex.

When she was out of sight he entered the building, searching for her place.

The lock was no problem and seconds later John stood in the middle of her living room.

"Any idea what she's involved in?" He asked into the empty room.

"So far I found nothing indicating a reason for her to be in trouble." Finch answered immediately. "I had a look at her history. Mother died in a mugging when she was nineteen, father is unknown. Rachel became a nurse and now works at the Nightingale Hospital Center. No crime records, no financial problems, not even a speeding ticket."

"Maybe something at work?" John suggested and finished his round through the apartment. The place was small but neat. Somewhat minimalistic, it didn't feel like a home, more like a place to stay at for a while. But maybe that was just him.

"As a nurse she has contact with many different people." In the background John heard him tapping on the keyboard. "It'll take a while to go through all the records. It may be wise for you to keep an eye on her at the hospital, Mr. Reese."

John nodded to that, not that Finch could see it. "Found her laptop."

He turned it on and had a quick look but Finch would do the thorough search as soon as the connection was established. Nothing sparked his interest, though. Like in the whole apartment there was little personal stuff. Some things work related but it didn't look like Rachel was the social type on the internet.

John finished his search through Rachel's place and came up with nothing. No hidden papers, money, drugs or weapons.

"Place's clean, I'm heading over to the hospital." John informed Finch and locked the door behind himself. Rachel wouldn't even know he'd been here.

"I can access the personnel files and patient records from here but I need you to have a look at Ms. Martin's more recent patients, they may not be in the system yet."

"I'm on it."

It took John nearly forty-five minutes to get to the hospital and every minute was too long. Rachel didn't have that much of a head-start and he doubted, hoped, nothing would happen on her way but he always felt better when he'd eyes on their number.

During the ride Finch did his thing and fed John every bit of information he could find about Rachel Martin. Which wasn't much. She'd hardly left an online trail which was suspicious by itself these days.

"After her mother died Ms. Martin went to nurse school and has worked as a nurse ever since." There was a pause. "This is odd."

"What, Finch?" John prompted when Harold didn't continue.

"In the last fifteen years Ms. Martin has worked for seven different hospitals all over the country."

"Bad records?" John asked when he reached the hospital and parked his car in the visitors' lot.

"Not that I can see. But like I said, it will take time to access all those personnel files."

"Maybe she's running from something." John mused and got out of the car.

"Maybe." Finch sounded unsure.

John ended the call and went to have a closer look at Rachel's workplace.

Until they knew more about the situation this was an observe mission only and John spent the next few hours doing just that.

Rachel worked in the stroke unit where patients came in transferred from other stations with paperwork and all that so surprise encounters were unlikely.

When John first had heard she was a nurse he had been worried about somebody high on drugs starting shooting in the ER or something like that, he'd no idea if or how the Machine could predict something like that but it wouldn't surprise him if it did.

This station was way calmer than a hectic ER ever could be but it made it more difficult for John to keep an eye on Rachel without being noticed.

Stolen scrubs made him almost invisible, though, and John got access to the more recent files without trouble. Rachel even gave him a small nod and a smile when she found him in the nurse's station.

"New here?" She asked when she didn't recognize his face.

"First day." He answered with what he hoped was a shy smile. "I'm John."

"Rachel." She clasped a clipboard with one hand and reached the other one out to him for a handshake. "If you need anything, just asked." Rachel wanted to say more but was called way.

"I will." John answered but he doubted she'd heard it.

John didn't go farther into the past than the last three weeks because whatever the threat was, it was happening now. Most of the patient had been released or transferred elsewhere by now, two had died of another stroke and only five of the current patients had been here for longer than a week.

Three had come in over the last two days and those were the ones at the top of John's list. He sent the data to Finch and even snapped pictures of the three patients to confirm they were who they said they were. Finch couldn't find anything suspicious about them at first glance but he promised to look farther into their history.

During all that John had a watchful eye on Rachel. One of the patients, a co-worker or somebody else entirely, until he knew more everybody was a suspect.

In a calm moment Rachel chatted easily with another nurse over a coffee, she joked with one of the doctors and when things got hectic she barked out orders, sure and confident, showing that she'd done this job for fifteen years now and knew what she was doing. As far as John could tell, she was good at her job.

She may not be the type to put down roots but the woman John observed was self-confident and had found her place in life. Nothing he saw indicated a reason why her number had come up.

"Any luck with the patients and the co-workers, Finch?" John asked but by now he doubted this had something to do with the hospital. It could be more helpful to see what she did in her spare time.

"So far nothing, Mr. Reese." Came Harold's prompt answer. "But I keep looking."

_So will I_, was the unspoken response on John's end.

"Here, you look like you could need one." Rachel came over and offered him a cup of coffee. "This can be pretty confusing at first." With her own cup she gestured at the files John had in front of him.

"I hope it gets better over time." John accepted the coffee. "But the people here are nice."

He wasn't sure what she thought he was doing here but as long as she didn't call him out on it, John played along.

"They are." She came closer with a grin. "Don't worry, nobody's going to bite your head off."

"And the patients?" John prompted. "Any troublemakers?"

"Nah." She made and finished her coffee. "Not worse than elsewhere. Most of them try to be pretty calm, you know, to keep the blood pressure down. One stroke is more than enough."

She threw the empty paper cup in the trash, gave John a sympathetic pat on the forearm and went back to work.

They never knew if their number was a victim or the perpetrator, however, in this case it seemed pretty clear. John just needed to find out who he had to protect her from. And why.

John knew he could be wrong. She could be too clean to be good, Elias came to mind.

When he watched her with the other nurses and doctors and with the patients everything about her screamed innocent woman who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Near the end of Rachel's shift two men entered the station. Both tall and dressed in neat suits they didn't look like they wanted to visit somebody. They had an aura of authority around them but they moved more like soldiers than paper pushers.

They went straight for the nurse's station and flashed their ID at Rachel.

Rachel made a call and while they waited the slightly shorter one of the two had a flirty eye on her. She didn't seem to mind and nothing in her posture suggested that she was uncomfortable with the situation so John kept his observing position. The other man just rolled his eyes and the way he swept the area told John he was more than just casually looking around while he waited.

John wasn't sure what to make out of them but before he could do anything one of the doctors took the two men to his office.

"Who was that?" John asked Rachel when they were gone.

"CDC." She answered and the playful smile left her face.

"What do they want?"

"Didn't say." She chewed her bottom lip but shrugged it off when one of the patients gave her a call. "Sorry, gotta go." With that she hurried to get to the patient.

"Finch?" John asked, shifting his gaze from her to the closed door of the doctor's office. "The CDC has just arrived."

tbc

* * *

**A/N** _Harold Finch's little speech at the beginning is from the actual intro of the show. He can explain the situation better than me._


	2. Chapter 2

"The CDC?" At least Finch sounded as surprised as John was. "What does the CDC want there?"

"You telling me, Finch." John answered without losing sight of the door. "Something you didn't tell me?" He doubted there was something CDC worthy that Harold just happened to forget mentioning. That wasn't Finch. That man liked his secrets but when it came to the dangers of the job ...

"I'm in the CDC system now." Finch ignored his question and John had long ago stopped to wonder how he could get access to almost anything this quickly. Maybe he'd already a back door into most of the systems they frequently needed. Which the CDC was not. "There is no authorized case degrading to the Nightingale Hospital Center."

"Why am I not surprised?" John positioned himself closer to the door, pretending to be busy with one of the cabinets and had his phone ready to get the connection to the CDC guys. If possible he'd snap a picture of them as well.

"What did Rachel get herself into?" John asked but didn't expect an answer.

A few minutes later the door opened and the two men stepped out.

"Thanks, Doctor Mercer." The taller one of them said and shook hands with the doctor. "Please call us if you can think of anything else."

"What can I say." The doctor looked from one to the other in a helpless gesture. "I think you guys are a little bit paranoid. This is the stroke unit, sometimes people die here. Sad but true."

The two men just nodded to that and went a few steps down the hallway while Doctor Mercer went back to his office. More than enough time for John to snatch the connection to their phones.

"What do you think?" The shorter one asked and fingered at his tie as if he wasn't used to it and wanted to loosen it. A pointed look from his partner stopped him, though.

"I don't know." He sounded unsure. "Maybe we should talk to the staff."

"Great idea." A wide grin spread over the shorter man's face. "I'll take the nurse we spoke to earlier. You can take ..." He made a half turn in search for hospital staff but at the moment nobody was in sight.

"Him." The man pointed at John, clapped his partner's shoulder and then went off to find Rachel.

John wanted to follow him but the other man stopped his tracks with a little smile and a flash of his badge. John only caught a short glimpse at the badge so he couldn't tell if it was real or fake.

"Nash, I'm with the CDC." He introduced himself. "May I ask you some questions?"

The interview might turn out kinda short because it was supposed to be John's first day and all, however, this was his chance to get some information as well.

"CDC?" He faked surprise. "Is there something dangerous going on here?"

"No need to worry, sir." The man tried to reassure him and John had to say, he had his act down to an art. Or he really was who he said he was but John wouldn't bet money on that. "This is just a routine check. To see if the standards are met. It looks good so far, however, I noticed the rate of fatal strokes in this unit is above the average."

The interview was rather short. And rather fruitless on both sides. Nash didn't mention Rachel with one word, just asked about the staff in general and about the patients that died. If John had noticed something out of the ordinary.

"Sorry, this is my first day." John admitted with a half-shrug and then leaned in for a more private conversation. "My first day and I'm talking to the CDC, just between you and me, should I come back here tomorrow?"

"No need to worry, sir." Nash answered with an open smile and this John believed. The man didn't think John or anybody working here was in danger from something he still hadn't elaborated. "Like I said, this is more of a routine check. More paperwork than anything else. Thank you for your time." At least he was polite, lying but polite.

John watched him leave.

"Finch, what do you think?" He asked under his breath while he went to search for Rachel. The other man had dissipated in this direction but so far he hadn't come back for his partner and there was no sign of Rachel either.

"I'm not sure, Mr. Reese." Came Harold's answer. "But I'm having a closer look at the patients who died recently on this station."

John nodded to that and headed for the staff's locker room. By now Rachel's shift was over and he hoped to find her there.

_Shouldn't have let her out of my sight,_ he thought while he hurried down the stairs. He hoped the other man had just interviewed her like his partner had interviewed John but she could be dead by now for all he knew. Without hesitation he dashed into the women's locker room. The empty locker room.

"Finch, I lost her." John turned on his heel and went for the parking lot. Maybe she was already on her way home. Or that CDC guy took her. Or she was lying dead in one of the laundry baskets.

"I found her." Finch had never said anything sweeter. "At least I found her phone."

"Where?" John made a sprint for his car. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed another car leaving the parking area, an old muscle car and for a second he caught a glimpse of the driver. The second CDC guy.

John got in his car and started the engine, ready to follow him but Harold stopped him.

"I'm tracking Ms. Martin now. Looks like she's on her way home."

John started the car and drove in that direction while the other car disappeared around a corner behind him. There had been somebody in the passenger seat but the figure was too big to be Rachel. Most likely the man who'd interviewed John.

John gave Harold the details of the car and Harold promised to give the information to Carter. With the license plates they should at least get a name.

"Tell me if Rachel changes her mind and drives somewhere else." John ended the call and focused on driving. Harold would inform him as soon as Rachel diverted from her way home and in the meantime would call Detective Carter. By now John was used to Harold being constantly in his ear and the sudden silence gave him more room to think than he liked.

So far this whole case didn't make sense. The two CDC guys were suspicious and for sure they played a part in this but John had no idea what that would be. They had been interested in the people who recently died in the hospital, so that was a start and for sure Harold was already on it. Maybe one of them had told Rachel something she shouldn't know. Or gave her something. That was the closest John came to an explanation.

However, Rachel was the center of this and most likely she knew what was going on. Or at least could point him in the right direction.

"Ms. Martin has arrived at home." Harold informed him about half an hour later. "And Detective Carter came back to me with the license plates. The car belongs to a Gus Hudson from Colorado. I'm sending you a picture of his driver's license. Beyond that I can find nothing about him so I'm not sure if Mr. Hudson actually exists."

John had a quick look at the picture.

"That's the second CDC guy, he was driving the car. I didn't get his name." John confirmed. "Did you find anything on the other guy, this Mr. Nash?"

"Nothing so far." Harold admitted. "But I'm running both their pictures right now and Detective Carter is doing the same with the police database. If they've come in conflict with the law before we'll find them."

John had no doubt about that, both men had come across as professionals after all. And you didn't become a professional in this line of work without butting heads with the law at some point. John just wasn't sure what this line of work exactly was. Fake CDC, a hospital and a nurse in the mix, his first guess was drugs but he knew way too little to narrow this one down.

It still took John ten more minutes to reach Rachel's apartment complex but according to Finch she hadn't left her place and when John pulled into the parking lot he didn't spot that old Impala so maybe he was ahead of those two. It hadn't looked like they were on Rachel anyway but that was probably only a matter of time.

"Okay, I'm going to talk to her." John parked the car, adjusted his suit jacket and made sure his gun was where it was supposed to be.

This time he knew his way around and he stood in front of Rachel's door in a matter of seconds. However, she didn't open. John rung the bell and knocked but the door stayed closed.

"Ms. Martin?" He finally yelled. "This is the police, please open the door."

Usually that did the trick, he could explain the little misunderstanding about being a police officer later when he'd made sure she was safe. But this time the door stayed closed. And he didn't hear a sound from the inside either.

"I'm coming in." He announced and gave her a second to change her mind before he opened the door with one precise kick near the lock. The door bust open and John was inside before it hit the wall, gun in his hand. He made a quick round through the apartment but it was empty.

"She's not here." John informed Harold and had a closer look around.

The apartment looked nothing like when John had left it in the morning. A chair lay kicked over on the floor, drawers were open and clothes lay around.

"Maybe a fight." John closed the door of the fridge. The kitchen was a mess, too.

"Any sign of Ms. Martin, Mr. Reese?" Harold tried to keep his voice even but John heard the worry behind his words.

"Nothing." John returned to the bedroom, the center of this mess. On the bed he found her phone and credit cards among abandoned clothes and an empty purse.

"You think those men kidnapped her?" Finch asked while John had a closer look at the closet.

"I don't know, Finch." John's eyes were on the upper shelf where in the morning a suitcase had been. "Her suitcase is missing and she took some of her clothes."

He went over to the bathroom. Bottles and containers were knocked over here as well but some things were missing, too.

"And she took her toothbrush."

"So she left on her own?"

"Either that or her kidnapper let her pack a bag." John returned to the living room. "However, she left in a hurry."

From what John was seeing Rachel had left on her own but had left anything behind that could lead to her, namely her phone and her credit cards, smart girl. On the other hand that would make it harder for him to find and protect her. Because this for sure looked like the reaction of somebody in fear and not of somebody who was about to kill somebody.

"You have any idea where she might went?" John asked because he came up with nothing. There were no pictures of her family, nothing indicating a place she'd most likely turn to to hide. Her laptop sat still on the table, it didn't look like she'd even touched it while she'd been here.

"I've no idea, Mr. Reese." Over the line John heard him frantically tapping on his keyboard.

"We need to have a little chat with those CDC guys." John said and left the apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

Nash and Hudson, if those were their real names which John highly doubted, weren't hard to find. He had gotten the connection to their phones earlier so Finch didn't have a problem tracking them.

John entered the diner and spotted his targets in the far corner. Hudson sat with his back to the wall from where he had the whole diner in view while Nash sat across from him with good view on where the kitchen, rest rooms and probably the back door was. They had changed into more comfortable clothes, jeans and various layers of shirts, and were now busy with their dinner.

Nash had a laptop at his side and a stack of papers at hand but for the moment he was focused on the plate in front of him.

Hudson seemed equally engrossed in his burger but as soon as John approached them his manner switched slightly, he sat up a little straighter without missing a beat in their ongoing conversation.

"I'm telling you, man." Nash took another bite and chewed a few times before he continued. "It's not something you can fix with some gas and a lighter."

Hudson pouted at that but nodded in agreement. Out of the corner of his eye he watched John and gave a slight nod to his partner who instantly became as wary as Hudson.

"Gentlemen." John didn't try to hide and just snatched a chair and sat down at their table. Nash, who hadn't seen him so far threw him a confused glance.

"We met at the hospital." Nash said with a questioning look at his partner. "John, right?"

"Something we can help you with?" Hudson took over the conversation. "Because we're kinda busy here."

John swore Nash kicked his partner under the table for that before he turned towards John with that open smile of his.

"Sorry, he always gets cranky if something gets between him and his burger." He said and ignored his partners growling at that. "Something happened at the hospital?"

John wasn't sure how to proceed from here. So far they seemed like nice guys who enjoyed their dinner after a long day. He could ask them about Rachel but he didn't know if they already knew it was her they were looking for. No need to put her on their radar.

"You're not CDC." John said instead and waited for their reaction.

"Why would you think that?" Nash asked before his partner could say something. Both men looked mildly surprised but otherwise gave no indication of being caught. John ignored the question and leaned in for a more private conversation. The diner wasn't that busy but there was no need to draw attention.

"What were you looking for in the hospital?"

"Just a routine check." Nash replied easily. "Like I said, nothing to worry about."

"You're not CDC." John repeated. "So what were you looking for in the hospital?" He put his police badge on the table to make his point. Okay, it wasn't technically his but Stills was in no condition to complain.

Nash and Hudson looked at the badge on the table, then at each other.

"So the police is now undercover in hospitals?" Hudson raised an eyebrow. "21 Scrubs Street? Ain't you a little old for that one?"

John gave him a stern look while his mind raced to find an angle on this. They didn't seem to be intimidated by him in the slightest.

"Mr. Reese?" Finch's voice in his ear stopped John from his response. "Leave there. Now."

The urgency was clear in his tone. Finch wouldn't interfere if it wasn't important so John followed his lead and would ask questions later.

"I don't know who you are or what your game is." John gathered his badge and stood up. "But I don't want to see you anywhere near that hospital again."

With that John turned and left. He would have liked to explicitly tell them to stay clear of Rachel but he still wasn't sure if they even knew she played a role in this.

"Jeez, what crawled up his ass?" Hudson didn't bother to lower his voice and was already chewing on something again. So much for leaving an impression.

John pushed the door of the diner open with more force than necessary and stepped outside.

"What is it, Finch?" He asked while he crossed the street and then turned to keep an eye on Hudson and Nash. By now it was dark enough for the diner to be light up so he had a good view on them without them noticing. As far as he could tell they were back to eating their dinner.

"Detective Carter was able to identify them." Finch answered. "I think it's for the best if you'd return to the library, Mr. Reese."

John hesitated at that, Rachel was still missing and these two men were their only lead, however, as long as they had their phones on them, Finch could track them down any time he wanted so there was no real point in watching them eat right now. They were animatedly talking by now, probably about him.

"I'm on my way."

When John entered the library Finch had the mugshots of Nash and Hudson already taped to the glass he used as a pin board. Actual police mugshots so they had been in conflict with the law before.

"Sam and Dean Winchester." John read the names. They looked younger, less hardened. Nash, Sam, looked like a kid who's biggest fear was what his parents would say when they found out their son got into trouble with the police. Hudson, Dean, on the other hand looked like he had fun.

"It took us a while to identify them because apparently they're dead." Finch came around his desk, his limp quite prominent because of the hurry he was in.

John raised an eyebrow and waited for Finch to continue.

"Actually, Mr. Winchester here." He tapped Dean's picture. "Officially died three times already. His younger brother Sam two times." He gave the second picture a tap and then made a half turn to crane his neck enough to glance up at John.

"You're officially dead too, Finch." John reminded him.

"Not like this, Mr. Reese." Harold returned to his desk. "The Winchester brothers, Dean in particular, are known for sadistic murders. For two of their supposed deaths they left bodies behind which apparently were mistaken as theirs. The other time they caused a fatal explosion in a sheriff's office leaving several casualties to cover their tracks."

"Why don't they keep their heads down?" John wondered. "Leave the country?"

Faking ones death was possible, even with a convenient body in place, but it was difficult and only worth the effort if the supposed to be dead person actually played dead. Which usually meant starting a new life somewhere else.

"They've been on the FBI Most Wanted list." Finch added another detail. "You're right, Mr. Reese. It would have been wise to leave the authorities under the impression they were dead."

John closed his eyes for a moment. The FBI was the last thing he wanted to get involved.

"What does Carter say to this?" He dared to ask. She should even be less keen on inviting the FBI.

"Detective Carter." Harold didn't look up from the screen in front of him but John heard the little smile in his tone. "Would prefer it if we handled this discreetly."

John nodded to that. They could bundle this one up and leave it to Carter to arrest the Winchesters in the end. Or to Fusco, that would be even better.

_If they make it to the end_, John thought but didn't say it out loud. What he'd heard about the Winchester brothers so far didn't make him feel like aiming for their kneecaps. And he didn't know the details of their crimes yet.

"Fill me in, Finch." John stepped in front of the mugshots, now seeing them with fresh eyes, searching for the ruthlessness, the murder in those faces. But he didn't find what he was looking for. Sam still looked like a college kid who had been caught with a joint and Dean was like a kid goofing around.

"They were both born in Lawrence, Kansas. Dean in 1979 and Sam '83." Finch started. He spoke about Dean torturing and murdering women in St. Luis where he faked his first death. A failed bank robbery in Milwaukee. They had been arrested a few times but always managed to escape, one time in that big explosion in which they officially died again. Never seen a court room from the inside. And wherever they went, they left bodies behind. The FBI agent who'd been on their case until he died in that sheriff's office, Special Agent Victor Henriksen, had pieced together the picture of a family of sadistic killers, it apparently started with their father, which had been more or less active since the eighties.

"That's only the beginning." Finch announced after he'd given John the basics.

"What else is there?" Now John turned around to look at his partner.

"Aside from the sadistic murders." Finch paused for a second, probably still comprehending what he was reading. He was a good guy and despite his handicap and his bookworm appearance no stranger to fighting in the first line if it was necessary but to no means he was as hardened as John was. And John silently hoped that would never change.

"In a _confession._" Finch emphasized that word. "Dean made in Baltimore, which turned out to be a distraction to help his brother escape from police custody, he expressed his belief in ghosts. Apparently the murders he was accused of where actually committed by a vengeful spirit."

"Good distraction." John had to admit. "And he might have tried to build up for a mental illness defense."

"I don't think that's the only reason." Finch tapped along on the keyboard. "On several crime scenes associated with the Winchester brothers the police found satanic symbols and they are known for desecrating graves."

"Desecrating graves?" John repeated and tried to see the men he'd met in the diner not an hour ago as the men Harold were describing. They were good at passing as normal, he had to give them that.

"They like to dig up graves and set the corpses on fire. Always with quite an amount of salt on and around the corpse so Agent Henriksen came to the conclusion it is a ritual of some sort."

"That's why you wanted me to leave them alone?" John asked, remembering the urgent tone in Harold's voice when he'd told him to leave.

"No." More tapping on the keyboard and then Harold gestured for him to come around the desk and have a look at the screen. "I was afraid something like this would happen."

The video, clearly taken by a shaky phone camera, showed Sam and Dean Winchester in a diner. What happened next could have been a scene right out of a Tarantino movie.

"All right, everybody be cool! This is a robbery!" Dean yelled and climbed on a counter with his gun pointed at the patrons. "Anybody moves, and I'll execute every last one of you!"

And together the brothers did just that, gunned down every last person in that diner. John watched in shocked silence.

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey, hey! Keep that up!" Sam came for the person holding the phone. "I didn't say you could put that down! I want the whole world to know what Sam and Dean Winchester are capable of."

The video ended with the owner of the phone shot and Sam and Dean in a close-up.

"Well, goodnight, St. Louis. You've been a wonderful crowd. Grab your socks and hose, Iowa, 'cause we're headed to you next." Dean said with a wink before the screen went black.


	4. Chapter 4

They sat in stunned silence for a moment.

"When was that?" John finally asked. Something like this usually made big news but he'd missed it completely.

"Almost two years ago." Harold answered.

John nodded to that, two years ago he hadn't been in the mood to pay attention to anything aside from his bottle. Maybe a place to sleep but farther than that?

"And since then?"

"Nothing. They managed to stay off the radar since then."

"You sure?" Of course Harold was sure but John had to ask. "You don't just stop if you're spinning out of control like this." He pointed at the screen. If you're as far gone as what he'd just seen, there were very few reasons you'd stop. However, the Winchesters he'd spoken with were pretty much alive and physically able to carry on with their killing spree.

"They died in police custody not long after this." Harold supplied. "Their heads were missing but the fingerprints were theirs and they were identified by the officers handling the case and by two FBI agents."

John didn't know what to say to that.

"How does Rachel fit into this?" He asked instead because so far there had been no connection to their latest number. However, if he'd any doubts about her role as the victim in this scenario, he was over that now.

"So far I couldn't determine any connection between Ms. Martin and the Winchester brothers." Harold admitted and switched a few windows on the screen in front of him. "Dean Winchester is known for torturing and killing women, though." He didn't sound certain. "But Ms. Martin doesn't fit his usual type."

John didn't want to think about Dean's usual type.

"Why the charade with the CDC? That doesn't make sense, Finch." John pointed out what Harold probably already knew. "I was there, it was pure luck Dean talked to Rachel in the first place."

"The Machine wouldn't give us a number based on luck, Mr. Reese." John wasn't sure if he sounded offended. "There is a reason why we got Ms. Martin's number. She's not a random victim."

"So we're back to the hospital." John straightened up with as sigh. "They were searching for something there. Something that's connected to Rachel."

"The younger Mr. Winchester pointed out the dying rate on the station Ms. Martin is working on is above the average." Harold tapped away and a second later a new window opened. Something with graphs and statistics. "And he's right. If you got a heart attack I wouldn't recommend the Nightingale Hospital Center, Mr. Reese."

"Somebody helping them along?"

"Every fatality so far has been considered a natural cause of death." Harold shook his head. "There had been autopsies but every time the coroner attested a heart attack."

"Why would the Winchesters be interested in heart attacks anyway?" John mused aloud. This didn't make sense.

"I don't know, Mr. Reese. But I'll have a closer look at Ms. Martin's former work places."

"You think she has something to do with that?" It wouldn't be the first time a nurse murdered her patients but Rachel didn't come across as a cold-blooded killer. As if they ever did.

"I'm just ruling out possibilities, Mr. Reese." Harold didn't look up while his fingers flew over the keyboard. "But if I had to make a guess I'd say Ms. Martin has noticed something she shouldn't have."

They parted with this. Harold would have a closer look at everybody connected to that stroke unit in general and Rachel Martin in particular. So far she could be caught up in anything from illegal experimental drugs given to the patients to a chatty patient over-sharing things he better shouldn't have.

_I hate poking around in the dark, _John thought on his way to wherever the Winchesters stayed for the night. With no clue where Rachel might be the Winchesters were his only lead. The signals of their phones led him to a motel. Not the best address in the world but cheap and with a no questions asked policy, John had no doubt. In front of one of the rooms he found the black Impala Dean was driving and a quick peek through the curtains confirmed that this was the room the Winchesters stayed at.

John didn't dare to linger too long but that peek revealed quite an arsenal spread out on one bed with Dean Winchester sitting at the edge with a knife and a grindstone while his brother sat with his laptop and papers all around him at the table. They were talking but John couldn't make out the words.

Making himself comfortable in his car, John settled for a long night.

It didn't take long for the lights to go out in their room and the night went by without disturbances.

"Should have brought Fusco." John muttered to himself and tried to find a more comfortable position. His ass was going numb.

In the morning the door of their room opened and wide awake John sat up straighter.

Sam Winchester stepped out and closed the door carefully behind himself as if he didn't want to make too much noise. Dean was probably still asleep.

Sam took the car and John followed him but the ride ended half a block down the street at a diner. A few minutes later he came back out with two cups of coffee and a brown paper back.

John used the moment to get himself a coffee as well, he needed a good dose of caffeine, before he followed Sam back to the motel. The car was once again parked in front of their room but they didn't waste much time with breakfast. When they came back out only ten minutes later, Dean was still nursing his cup of coffee and was overall looking grumpy.

Not a morning person, John mused and started his car to follow them. He'd seen the weapons they had in their room so he was pretty sure both were armed and dangerous so he didn't follow them too closely. Their car was hard to miss and he felt comfortable with keeping a few cars between himself and the Impala.

They stopped at a library where Sam left the car. With his satchel over his shoulder he looked like a college student ready to study for an exam or something. He was a little too old for that picture but John could see the boy he must have been in his Stanford years. However, that picture overlapped with the Sam Winchester he'd seen in that video. This man was as far from a harmless college student as he could be.

Dean pulled the car back in line and John had to make a quick decision which brother to follow and wished not for the first time he'd Fusco at his side to send after Sam while John stayed on Dean's tail. But that man had to actually work his normal job from time to time, John got that.

Without backup John could only hope that Sam stayed at the library and did what people did at libraries while he kept his eyes on the Impala. What the younger Winchester was looking for could have been interesting but he doubted they would find Rachel that way and John pegged the older brother for the more violent one anyway.

_Like a shotgun's more violent than a pistol,_ John thought and his lips tightened to a thin line. The result was the same, dead was dead.

John wasn't surprised when their journey ended in front of the hospital.

Once again Dean flashed is fake CDC badge and for the next hour he talked to everybody working at the stroke unit he could find, doctors, nurses, even the cleaning lady who was mopping the floor.

Whatever he was looking for, he was thorough, John had to give him that. Especially the cleaning lady was somebody easily dismissed but in many cases the source of useful information.

After the interviews one of the nurses let Dean use one of the computers where he worked alone for a moment until he was interrupted by his phone.

"Mr. Winchester is calling his brother." Finch supplied and a smile ghosted over John's lips. Harold loved to call people by their last name, this one had to drive him nuts.

"Find anything?" From the distance John saw Dean speaking but he heard his voice loud and clear in his ear.

"The death rate spiked up almost two years ago." Sam answered. "Before that nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing on the hospital itself." He paused for a second. "You know aside from people dying there from time to time. No violent death or something."

"All natural causes?" Dean asked, his eyes on the screen in front of him. For a moment he reminded John of Harold.

"As far as I can tell."

John still had no clue what their angle was but then Sam continued.

"Ran the badge of Mr. Undercover." There was a rustle of papers. "It belongs to a Detective James Stills."

They were good. John had his features under control but he was still glad that he could pretend he was busy with the cabinet in front of him while he watched Dean out of the corner of his eye.

"So he really is a cop?"

"Don't think so. I'm looking at his picture right now. That's not our Mr. Undercover." Sam answered. "Stills went missing a while ago and is presumed dead."

"Why am I not surprised?" John heard the sigh and saw Dean leaning back in his chair. "Think he's our guy?"

There was another thoughtful pause before Sam answered. Long enough for John to wonder when he'd become _their guy_ and what that meant. If it brought him to their attention and not Rachel he was fine with this, though.

"He was at the hospital. And then at the diner …" Sam reminded his brother. "Wouldn't be the first time something went for confrontation."

Dean hmmed to that. "I've asked around, nobody here knows him."

"It's a big hospital, if he comes in at different times on different days …" Sam didn't finish the sentence but Dean nodded in understanding.

"He could stay undetected for years if he's careful."

"He still on your tail?" Sam asked casually while John had to fight to mask his surprise. They were really good.

"He's watching me right now." Dean confirmed without looking in John's direction. If it hadn't been for the conversation he was listening in to John wouldn't have a clue Dean had noticed him at all. "He's good at blending in."

"So, him?" Sam asked and John felt like his death sentence was about to get signed.

"I'm not sure." To his surprise Dean was the one hesitating. "You remember the nurse I interviewed yesterday? Rachel Martin?"

And there it was.

"Yeah?"

"Guess who didn't show up to work today." Dean clicked his tongue. "According to her co-workers that's a first for her. And she started working here two years ago."

"So we have two suspects." Sam summed the situation up.

"Or two of those things." Still with the phone at his ear Dean stood up. "Find everything there is to find about those two."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll have a little chat with Mr. Undercover and then I'll head over to Rachel's, see what I can find there." He started walking in John's direction without obviously heading for him.

"Make sure you got the right one before you stab innocent people." Sam said with clear amusement in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah." With that they ended the call but by that time John was already on his way out of the building. Before he wanted a confrontation with the Winchesters he needed to sort this out.

"Finch?" He asked under his breath but was sure the other one could hear him just fine. "When did I become the target here?"


	5. Chapter 5

Harold caught another call from Dean to Sam in which Dean admitted he'd lost John and was now heading for Rachel's place.

"Shall I pick you up first?" Dean asked and from a safe distance John watched him coming out of the building.

"Think you need me there?" Sam asked back. "I'm on to something here."

"Somehow I doubt she's going to be there. It's never that easy." Dean answered while he dug his keys out of his pocket.

John didn't wait for Dean, he'd probably notice him if he tried to follow him, and turned his car in the direction of Rachel's apartment. With his little head-start John was back to his observation spot on the roof across the street by the time Dean entered Rachel's place. It didn't surprise him that Dean had no trouble opening the door without a key, though.

He wasn't sure what Dean hoped to find there, John had been over the place twice so far and had found nothing.

John raised an eyebrow at Dean's professional sweep through the place.

_His father was a marine,_ John reminded himself, _must have trained his boys._

However, he would have expected Dean to do this with a gun in hand. Last night John had seen several weapons on the bed, waiting for Dean's attention, and he was pretty sure Dean had at least one gun on him but he did the sweep with only a knife in hand.

When Dean was sure he was alone in the place, he put the knife back and had a more thorough look around. He picked up an abandoned bra by one strap, a pink one maybe even the one John had seen on Rachel what felt like a long time ago, with a grin that could only be described as lascivious.

That grin alone made John itch for his gun, it would be easy to put a bullet in Dean's head right now. He'd never knew what hit him.

However, John didn't pull the trigger. Partly because he figured Sam Winchester would react badly to the news of his brother's death which could very well end in a killing spree and partly because John was curious what this was all about. So far nothing made sense and he liked things to make sense. And he still needed to find Rachel.

Dean dropped the bra after a second and shook his head as if he wanted to get rid of unpleasant thoughts. Then he went on with his search through the meager leftovers of Rachel Martin's life.

He was thorough, John had to give him that, but in the end he too came up with nothing. Just like John had expected.

When Dean got his phone out John waited alongside him for Sam to pick up. He wondered what they'd do next. So far they hadn't acted like John had expected them to and that bothered him. Usually people were pretty predictable but not the Winchesters.

"Rachel's gone." Dean informed his brother when he picked up after the second ring. "Left in a hurry, looks like."

"Shit." Was Sam's comment on that.

"You found something on your end?" Dean stood at the window but his gaze didn't settle on John.

"Not much on Johnny Undercover." Sam answered. "There has been a FBI investigation on The Man in the Suit not long ago. Could be our guy. But they tried to keep a lid on that one. There are rumors, though."

"The Man in the Suit?" Dean asked and John cringed at that nickname. "Some kind of superhero?"

"More like some kind of vigilante." John heard the disapprove in those words. "Messing with cops and criminals alike."

"Let me guess, he tends to leave bodies behind?" Dean mused with a bitter tone to his voice.

_Little hypocritical, aren't we?_ John thought. They were the last to judge him, he helped people.

"Actually, no." Sam clarified. "Looks like he's more into shooting kneecaps. Very few casualties so far." Sam was good, John had to admit, finding all this in such a short amount of time.

"So far." Dean repeated. He turned from the window and started walking up and down the living room. "Could still be our Mister Ed."

Mister Ed? John had been called names before but this was a new one.

"These jokes are getting old." Sam didn't sound amused. "You know if he's the vigilante type he could be after us."

"We're supposed to be dead." Dean reminded him. "And he already was at the hospital. Two days ago I didn't know we were going to New York and we were at the other side of the country. No, he can't be after us. He's either one of those nightmare things ..."

"Nachtmahre." Sam corrected.

"... nightmare things himself." Dean didn't miss a beat. "Or he's her jealous boyfriend or something. You had more luck with Rachel?"

"What are they talking about, Finch?" John asked over Sam saying: "Found an old article about her. More specific on her mother."

"I don't know." Came Harold's answer and the distant sound of tapping overlapped with Dean's "Her mother?"

John wanted to say more but that had to wait until Sam and Dean had finished their quite confusing conversation.

_Nachtmahre_, to John the word sounded vaguely Germanic. The name of a group or a code-word maybe? Harold was already on it. If there was something to find on that, he'd find it. So John just kept listening into the conversation.

"Get this, when Rachel was nineteen her mother died in a mugging gone wrong." Sam sounded smug and John made a mental note to save one bullet for the younger Winchester.

"Stabbed?" Dean sounded equally pleased with that.

"They never found the weapon but the paper talked about a knife and six or seven hits." Sam summed it up.

"Somebody made sure. Good job." Dean said with sarcasm in his voice. "But he totally missed the daughter. Sloppy on that end."

"Or she got away." Sam suggested but he didn't sound sure.

"Like this time?" Dean made a helpless gesture at the empty apartment.

"She can't just leave." Sam dismissed the idea and John still felt like he was missing quite some back-story here. "These things are very territorial, they set a feeding ground and stick to it."

"She's been here less than two years, Sam." Dean poked a hole in his brother's argumentation. By now John was just listening, taking in the information without even trying to make sense out of it.

"Oh, she can move on and find a different feeding ground." Sam reassured his brother. "However, lore says before she can leave a place she has to _count her victims_." John couldn't see Sam, neither could Dean for that matter, but the air-quotes were clearly there.

"What now?" Dean rubbed his face. "Fury with OCD?"

"More like a walk down the memory lane." Sam clarified without acknowledging the horse joke. "It takes a while, she needs a safe place where she won't be disturbed."

"What are we looking for?" Dean asked and from his grin alone John knew there was another horse joke coming. "A stable?"

"Dean." Sam sounded like a whiny little brother.

"Okay." Dean laughed but sobered the next second. "She's not here and as far as I know she doesn't have another place to go. No friends either. So where could she be?"

There was a long pause on both ends while John was pondering the same question.

They were talking crazy or in a very strange code, John wasn't sure what.

After all, Dean was the man who'd claimed a vengeful spirit was behind the killings he'd been accused of in Baltimore which may or may not have been just for distraction.

Crazy talk aside, if they were right with Rachel hiding some place safe and familiar John knew where to look.

Already half-way down the stairs he asked Finch to have a look at the blue-prints of the hospital.

"A storage room maybe." John suggested while he jogged over to his car. "Or in the basement. There have to be rooms rarely used, a room where she could hide for a while."

In the hospital she even could get food and other supplies easily without drawing attention to herself.

Still connected to the conversation between the brothers John heard them coming to the same conclusion. They blurted out "The hospital." in unison which would have made John smile if it hadn't been for the seriousness of the situation.

With a "Pick me up." Sam ended the call and John calculated the time it would take Dean to pick up his brother and get to the hospital. There they would have to search the building the old-fashioned way while John had the advantage of Harold whispering in his ear.

"You think she's back at the hospital, Mr. Reese?" Harold's voice filled the silence in the car.

"We better make sure before they find her." John didn't want to think about what the Winchesters might do to Rachel. "Anything about this _Nachtmahre_ thing?"

"The only reference I can find is to a mythical creature from European lore, mainly German, which apparently is known for giving nightmares. It actually is the root of the word _nightmare_, Mr. Reese."

"Thanks for the linguistic lesson, Finch." John gritted his teeth and steered the car through the traffic. At this rate it would take him at least forty-five minutes to get to the hospital. However, the Winchesters would have to face the same problem. "Anything useful?"

"I have to apologize, Mr. Reese, but so far I wasn't able to find any references to a group or operation with that name." Harold actually sounded sorry. "Given Mr. Winchester's documented expression of his belief in the supernatural it is entirely possible that they believe Ms. Martin is in fact such a creature."

Which didn't help to reassure John at all. He knew what the Winchesters, especially Dean, had done to people before, if they didn't even think of Rachel as a person …

John stepped on the accelerator.

By the time John reached the hospital Harold had the most likely hiding places ready. If Rachel was hiding somewhere in this place he would find her and make sure the Winchesters didn't get their hands on her. Harold had already a safe house ready for them. Once they had Rachel somewhere safe John had a few questions for her, though.

She wouldn't have gone into hiding if she didn't knew something was going on.

So far Rachel was the only one he'd come across who might give him a plausible explanation to this. One that didn't involve mystical creatures from medieval Europe.

He started his search in the basement but if she was hiding somewhere in this building, which still was a big if, she was smart enough to not hide in the most obvious spot.

For the next hour John searched storage room after storage room and every other place he could think of where somebody could hide for a longer period of time.

"I don't think, she's here, Finch." John said while he stepped out of just another janitor's closet.

"There is something we haven't considered so far." Harold wasn't quite ready to give up. "She could be in one of the patients' rooms."

"Playing visitor?" John asked. "Wouldn't that be a little too risky?"

"Not if the patient is not responsive." Harold pointed out. "But I suggest you hurry, Mr. Reese. The Winchester brothers have arrived at the hospital."

The Nightingale Hospital Center had an extra unit for long-term coma patients and patients in a vegetative state.

John found Rachel in the second room he tried.

They patient was lying in his bed, heart monitor quietly beeping at his side, completely unaware of what was going on around him. On a chair at the window but facing the wall sat Rachel Martin with her eyes closed. If she was sleeping or deep in thoughts, John couldn't tell. It took her a moment to realize she wasn't alone in the room any longer.

Slowly as if she was rising from a deep sleep she opened her eyes and turned his head to face him.

"Hello, Rachel."


	6. Chapter 6

Harold was busy. He was always busy when a number came up but this one turned out to require more of his time than others. He had to go through the personal life of the people working with Ms. Martin, her patients and of course he had to find out everything there was to know about Ms. Martin herself. Which turned out to be more difficult than expected. She hardly left a trace on the internet or in other ways easy accessible to Harold.

And then there were the Winchesters of course. Their files where a whole different mess. Never in his life had Harold seen such a sloppy collection of data.

It had all started with Agent Henriksen, the very agent who'd died alongside with the Winchesters in a gas explosion but unfortunately wasn't granted with a second chance like the brothers.

To Harold the file looked like Agent Henriksen wanted the Winchester brothers, Dean especially, to be guilty of everything that even faintly matched the pattern he'd put together around them.

"Where you chasing your White Whale, Agent Henriksen?" Harold asked into the empty library and not even Bear bothered to lift his head in an answer. However, Agent Henriksen had started it and whoever had worked the case next just continued in that manner. And the one after that and the next one. Crimes were added without crosschecking if they could have been committed by the brothers or not. Harold found at least two cases where Sam and Dean Winchester had been accused of crimes ruling each other out.

There were things not adding up but in general it didn't change the fact that the brothers where two very dangerous criminals. Even if they'd only committed half the crimes listed in their files.

How they'd managed to fake their own deaths that many times was another mystery waiting to be solved and so far Harold had not the faintest idea how they did it. It wasn't so that convenient doppelgangers just appeared out of nowhere when they might need them. However, in two cases there had been a body clearly identified as Dean Winchester, one of them right next to a body attributed to Sam Winchester. Granted, those where missing their heads and had been cremated by the time the agents had arrived so the identification was based on the statements of the sheriff and the coroner but even the FBI, an Agent Valente had signed the report, had been convinced that the Winchesters were gone for good this time.

And still, two years later they were alive and healthy here in New York.

Aside from his research Harold had to aid Mr. Reese and he had to keep an eye on the Winchesters' movements. And Bear needed a walk from time to time but at least the dog didn't complain about the rather short trips outside. And the little walks helped Harold to think.

"Why were they asking about the rate of fatal heart attacks?" Harold wondered aloud while he watched Bear taking care of his business. So far they had no angle on the Winchesters modus operandi. What Harold found in their file was far from coherent and a short consultation with Mr. Reese confirmed his initial thought. The file was useless. There was too much in there which didn't belong there. Usually there was a pattern, a signature but there was nothing like that in the Winchester file. There were things that came up frequently, like the credit card frauds or impersonating an officer, but sometimes things went down rather violently and other times they barely left a trace they'd ever been near a crime scene. It didn't make sense.

Before Harold could have a closer look at that mess, he and Mr. Reese listened in to a rather confusing conversation between the Winchester brothers and then Harold had to focus on _Nachtmahre_ and he had to find the most likeliest hiding spots in the hospital.

First they had to find Ms. Martin and bring her to safety, then they could keep searching for answers.

Harold shared Mr. Reese's hope that Ms. Martin could shed some light on this case.

Aside from medieval European lore Harold found nothing of interest on the _Nachtmahre_ topic and he already had the blueprints of the hospital ready for when Mr. Reese would need them so he used the time while Mr. Reese was driving to go back to the Winchesters' file.

Like he'd noticed before, things didn't add up and there was a lot of unrelated data in there. To get a clear or at least a clearer picture of the brothers Harold had to sort the data and find the relevant facts.

There was for example the statement of Ms. Rebecca Warren. In 2005 Dean Winchester had attacked, tortured and killed several women in St. Luis. Ms. Warren, his last victim and the only one who survived, had identified the man shot in her living room as Dean Winchester, her attacker. Years later, when the Winchester brothers had surfaced once again, Agent Henriksen had interviewed her a second time.

"The man who attacked me died that day." Harold read in her statement. "If Dean Winchester is still out there, alive, he's obviously not the one who did this to me."

Harold was willing to let this one slide. Maybe the man had shared some remarkable features with Mr. Winchester and there had been a mix-up, things like that happened. But it had happened a few times too often with the Winchesters.

That wasn't all. There was a problem with the time-line, Harold found out. The Winchesters had been at various crime scenes but pinning the first murder of a series on them turned out to be rather difficult. Not that Agent Henriksen hadn't tried. But at least in one case the brothers had been at the opposite part of the country when the first murder had happened.

"I wonder ..." Harold mumbled to himself and had a closer look at the dates of when somebody had been murdered, often under very, for the lack of a better term, strange circumstances and compared that to the proven interferences from the Winchester brothers. He found time gaps from a few days to several months. And not once he found evidence that the Winchesters had been in town before the first death.

"It's all in this file, Agent Henriksen." Harold said aloud and wondered if the late Mr. Henriksen had been too blinded, too engaged in this hunt, to see the incoherency. If he'd even cared.

Another thing were the witness' reports. Not many gave statements but the ones who did never accused the Winchester brothers of anything. Quite the contrary, they were often said to be the heros. That they'd saved them. Those statements were a little fuzzy on the how and from what the Winchesters had saved these persons but the tone was clear.

Harold sat back in his chair and Bear used the chance to lay his heavy head on his thigh. Absently Harold scratched him behind the ear and the dog gave a content sigh.

The Winchesters appeared after a murder had occurred, after it had been made public. For the same reasons Harold and Mr. Reese turned up before a violent crime happened?

"What do you think, Bear?" Harold looked down into the brown dog-eyes. "Vigilantes?"

If they were something like that, which was highly speculative at this point, they'd spoken rather dismissive about the idea of John being a vigilant.

"I'm at the hospital now." John's voice drew him out of his thoughts and Harold chased Bear way, he had work to do.

"I'm here, Mr. Reese." Harold opened the hospital's blueprint. "I'd suggest you start with your search in the basement. There are some rarely used rooms down there, maybe Ms. Martin hides in one of them."

Like Mr. Reese Harold wasn't sure if or even why Ms. Martin hid in the hospital but they had to find her before the Winchesters did.

An hour later they still hadn't found her but the signals of the Winchesters' phones told Harold that they were running out of time.

Using the hospital's cameras Harold kept an eye on the Winchester brothers who'd split up to cover more ground.

"Hello, Rachel." Harold heard John saying. "I'm here to help you."

"Help me?" She snorted and Harold didn't need to see her face to get her disgusted expression.

However, John managed to convince her to come with him, promising he'd explain everything once they'd reached the safe-house Harold had set up for them. Harold doubted she believed one word John was saying but she went with him and that was all that mattered at the moment.

"I suggest you take the staircase in the north-east corner, Mr. Reese." Harold directed them through the hospital, as far away as possible from either of the Winchester brothers. They had to take a detour at one point but all in all they reached the parking lot without an incident.

However, when they were right out in the open, Harold caught another call from the Winchesters.

"Dude, where are you?" Sam yelled into the phone as soon as his brother picked up. He was running down the stairs.

"East wing, fourth floor." Came the prompt answer.

"They're in the lot." Sam reached ground level and sprinted down the hallway. "Saw them through the window. Rachel and that guy in the suit."

"Shit."

Another camera caught Dean Winchester running for the stairs but by now Mr. Reese and Ms. Martin had reached the car and were on their way to safety.

Sam, phone still at his ear, stormed out of the doors but could only watch the car disappearing in the distance.

"Lost them. Dammit!" He looked like he wanted to kick something and Harold was glad that nobody was around Sam Winchester at the moment.

"They left together?" Dean was still running down the stairs but that didn't show in his speech.

"Yeah."

"So what?" He reached the bottom and had to make his way through the few people in the lobby. Harold held his breath but so far the older Winchester didn't seem to even notice the people around him. "They're both horsey things?"

"Doubt it." Sam was on his way to their car. "There would be more causalities if there were two of them feeding."

Harold didn't know what they were talking about but it crushed the little confidence in their sanity he'd developed over reading their file.

"We have to find them." Dean pointed out. "Before she decides that she doesn't need the idiot in shining armor anymore."

With that they ended the call and Harold sat back in his chair. That last part sounded rather ominous.

"Mr. Reese." Harold switched over to him. "The Winchesters have lost you. For now."

"We're almost at the safe-house." Came his short answer back.

The Winchesters clearly thought Ms. Martin was the threat in this scenario but so far Harold hadn't seen anything pointing in that direction. However, Dean's last sentence gnawed at him.

"Be careful, Mr. Reese."

"Are you worried about me, Finch?" John answered with clear amusement in his voice.

A few minutes later they were at the safe-house and Harold heard John reassuring Ms. Martin that she was safe there. Which made her laugh, a humorless, dry laugh.

"Safe?" She asked. "You really think I believe that?"

Her voice grew louder as if she was closer to Mr. Reese now.

"Do you really think I couldn't smell you all over my place?" She snarled. "I know what you are."

Taken aback Harold just sat there and listened while John asked: "What do you think I am?"

"Stop playing games. You're a hunter." Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Only question is, where are your partners? The one whispering in your ear and the other one? And will they be here in time to save you?"

There was the sound of a struggle.

A gunshot.

Silence.

"Mr. Reese?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Mr. Reese?" Harold tried again but was only met with silence. "Mr. Reese, what happened over there?" He knew it was a silly question but he asked anyway. The silence became unnerving and cold dread clumped in his stomach.

Their job was dangerous, Mr. Reese's more than Harold's but Harold never got used to things like this. Somehow the not knowing was far worse than actually knowing if John was injured. Or worse. His mind refused to even think of the possibility of worse and instead raced for an explanation.

The Winchesters had found them, that was the only plausible explanation Harold could come up with.

"Harold?" There finally was an answer and Harold dared to breathe again. However, it wasn't John's voice he was hearing.

"Ms. Martin?" He asked, deliberately trying to keep his fear out of his voice. Whatever was going on there, Ms. Martin was most likely confused and shocked and for sure he'd need her help to bring her and Mr. Reese to safety. If it wasn't already too late but he refused to even consider that option.

"Surprise, I'm still alive." She sounded kind of smug. "Not that hard, considering your little goon doesn't seem to know what he's doing."

"Ms. Martin, what happened to Mr. Reese?" Harold asked and strained his ears to hear anything beyond her breathing.

"Mr. Reese, hmm." She made a considering noise as if she was trying to figure something out. "You're calling him by his last name so he's not your best buddy, I guess?"

"Ms. Martin, I must insist to speak with Mr. Reese." Harold tried again, not sure if the woman at the other end fully grasped the severity of the situation. Not that Harold knew in what kind of situation they were but it had to be bad.

"He can't come to the phone right now." She answered and he could almost hear her shrug. "Don't worry, I haven't killed him. Yet."

For a second Harold's mind froze. Was she the perpetrator after all?

"What have you done to him?"

"He's sleeping. Having a nightmare, looks like." It sounded like she moved around, the soft noise of her footsteps carried over to Harold, she was pacing. "You know, I feel kinda offended."

"What do you mean?" Harold asked when she didn't continue while his mind raced.

"Didn't you figure out by now what I am or did you sent your partner in unprepared on purpose?" She asked. "I mean if he's the rookie you want to get rid off, I'd be happy to help out."

"I can assure you, Ms. Martin, that I don't want any harm done to him." Harold hurried to say. "We can negotiate."

Now she laughed, a harsh, unhappy sound. "A hunter who wants to negotiate, that's a new one."

Harold had no idea what she was talking about but he was willing to agree to almost everything at this point. They could sort this out when Mr. Reese was out of immediate danger.

"You don't sound like Dean." She changed the subject and Harold needed a second to follow her train of thoughts. "So I'm guessing you're his other partner, that tall guy with the long hair. Didn't get your name earlier, Harold."

_She thinks I'm Sam Winchester,_ Harold realized and wasn't sure what to make out of that one.

"So tell me, Harold." She rolled his name. "Did you figure out what I am or did you sent Johnny boy here in on half-baked assumptions?"

Harold stared into nothingness for a second before he answered with the only thing coming to mind. "You're a Nachtmahre."

"Very good." She praised him. "Which leaves the question why John here tried to shoot me. What game are you playing, Harold?"

"Ms. Martin." Harold tried to sound reasonable. "Please, we mean you no harm."

She laughed her humorless laugh again.

"You know my mom had it coming." She continued in an almost chatty tone and Harold let her talk. More time for him to figure this one out. Maybe he got some information out of her.

Should he call Detective Carter or Fusco? They would come running to help John, he had no doubt, but for some reason he wasn't sure if the police was the right choice here.

"Your mother?" He asked into the thoughtful pause at the other end.

"She was greedy." Ms. Martin continued. "Drew attention to us. So one day a hunter found her. I'm not sure if he even knew she had a daughter, I didn't stay to find out."

There was another pause and when she spoke again she sounded close to tears. "I'm trying. I'm trying so hard."

"I know that, Rachel." Harold used her name in hope to get through to her but he wasn't sure if she even heard him.

"I live on the brink of starvation. Do you know how it feels? Being so hungry all the time? With food all around you and you can't have any of it? You have any idea?" She screamed the last part at him.

"No." He had no idea what she was talking about but his answer was lost in her sobs anyway.

"I take only what I need. Hell, I take one of the vegetables when they're about to pull the plug if I can get one." She sniffed and the next part had an iron layer underneath. "But a girl has to eat. So I kill one or two of your precious fellow humans, so what?"

Finally Harold understood. She was a serial killer, a very delusional serial killer, however, the picture became much clearer now. There were parts Harold still didn't understand but he was working on that. If only he could keep her talking.

"Ms. Martin." Harold started and stopped. "Rachel, we can sort this out. I can help you."

"Help me?" For the first time her laughter actually held humor. "A hunter offers to help a monster. How stupid do you think I am?"

_I'm not a hunter,_ was on the tip of Harold's tongue but he doubted she would believe him and it was kind of hard to explain who he really was. What was a hunter anyway?

"Okay, Harold." She sobered up. "This is how we're going to do this. I'm taking Johnny here with me as a hostage. If I see you or Dean anywhere on my way out of town, he's dead. Understood?"

"Yes." Harold breathed the word out while his fingers flew over the keyboard. Where were the Winchesters? If they managed to find her before he got John back …

"There is a public phone in front of my apartment, I take, you know where that is." It wasn't a question but Harold answered it anyway with a yes. "I'm going to call in an hour. You and Dean better answer it."

"What?" Harold must have misunderstood.

"Look, I know you're going to come after me, that's the game, I guess." She made a frustrated noise. "All I want is a head start, a fair chance. So I'm going to call that phone in an hour. You, Dean and I are going to have a little chat and then I'll leave Johnny alive and unharmed for you to pick up. Sounds like a deal?"

She didn't point out what would happen to John if Harold and Dean wouldn't be there to answer the phone.

"One hour, Harold. Tick-tock." With that the line went dead.

Harold wasted a precious minute to ponder his options. The wise decision would have been to call for help, Carter or Fusco, but he wasn't sure if they could reach Ms. Martin in time. He had confidence in their ability to deal with criminals but this was a very dangerous person with a hostage and she'd already admitted prior murders. Detective Carter was the right person to talk her into releasing John and to surrender but he was running out of time.

What would happen if he answered the phone alone?

_She would think Dean's coming for her and kill John,_ Harold answered his own question.

"What should I do?" Harold asked. Bear seemed to hear his distress and trotted over to lay his head on Harold's thigh, looking up at him.

Making up his mind Harold dialed a number.

"Yeah?" Came the rough answer after the third ring. By then Harold was close to hanging up. This was probably the stupidest idea he'd ever had.

"Mr. Winchester?" He asked as if he hadn't recognized the voice.

"Who's this?" Mr. Winchester demanded to know with barely concealed anger in his tone. Harold figured the man wasn't in the best mood after they'd lost Ms. Martin.

"We haven't met. My name is Harold." He licked his lips not sure if he should do this or not. "I think you've met my partner, Mr. Reese."

"Maybe." There was a second voice in the distance, Sam Winchester wanted to know who was on the phone and Dean answered with a hushed "Prince Charming's partner.".

"What do you want?" That was directed at Harold again and by the way the sound had changed he guessed he had been put on speaker. "And who the hell are you guys?"

Harold chose to leave the latter for another time.

"It seems like Ms. Martin has kidnapped my partner, Mr. Winchester." He fully expected him to shrug it off, what would a man like Dean Winchester care about a man he didn't even know.

"What does she want?" It was Sam who asked.

"For some reason Ms. Martin has me mistaken for you, Sam." Harold explained and heard a light snort from Dean but otherwise they kept silent to let him explain. "She's going to call the phone in front of her place in an hour. Your brother and I are supposed to answer it otherwise she's going to kill Mr. Reese."

They had questions, of course, and most of them Harold answered truthfully, others he brushed off but all in all he was surprised how caring they were. Both Winchesters. They even tried to calm him down and reassure him that everything would be alright. He nearly laughed at that one.

However, Dean was willing to meet him at the phone. Harold could only hope that Ms. Martin kept her word and would release Mr. Reese. Or that by that time he'd managed to free himself, John had proven his capability in that department often enough.

While Harold and Dean headed for the phone, it would take Harold at least half an hour to get there, Sam was free to go after Ms. Martin.

Harold wasn't exactly happy about that part of the plan. Ms. Martin knew Sam and would recognize him if she saw him but he had to admit that they couldn't trust her to keep her word. Not that Harold trusted the Winchesters any more than Ms. Martin.

In the end Harold agreed to track Mr. Reese's phone and to update Sam on their position.

"Ready for a walk?" Harold asked Bear when he was ready to leave. He was going to meet a mass murderer to get his friend out of the hands of a serial killer, he would at least take the trained military dog with him.

For a moment he considered to take one of the guns Mr. Reese tend to leave around but decided against it. He doubted it would do him any good. If he wanted to Dean Winchester could overpower him whenever he felt like it and Harold couldn't even hope to run from him.

So with Bear in the back seat, one eye on the screen of the laptop next to him in the passenger seat and Sam in his ear, Harold reached the phone with only seven minutes to spare.

"Mr. Winchester?" Harold got out of the car but kept his distance to the older Winchester. Who gave him a once-over, taking in the limping and the stiff neck and the iron grip Harold had on the dog's leash. Bear stood next to him, body tense like his owner's.

"You have to be frigging kidding me."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N** _To prevent confusion, there has been a Jessica Arndt in John's life. So when the name _Jessica _comes up, we're talking about her._

* * *

Dean Winchester took in the man in front of him, gaze flickering over to Bear, clearly seeing the dog for more of a threat than Harold.

Harold couldn't blame him for that, it was the reason he'd taken Bear with him in the first place. Holding his breath he waited for Dean to finish his inspection and couldn't help but wonder what was going through the other man's mind.

The Winchesters had no obligations to help him, for all they knew this could be a trap, so Harold waited for Dean's next move. He hoped Bear would be quick enough to stop Dean if he tried to attack Harold, though.

"Let me guess." Dean finally said in frustrated amusement. "You're the brains."

"You could put it that way, Mr. Winchester." Harold loosened his grip on the leash and next to him Bear slightly relaxed as well. The dog stayed on alert but he wasn't growling at Mr. Winchester like he did when he didn't like somebody. Which was a good sign?

"How can anybody confuse you with Sam?" Dean asked waving his hand in an up and down motion at Harold. "No offense, dude, but this is like mistaking a poodle for a wolf."

"Ms. Martin never saw me, Mr. Winchester."

"How do you even know my name? Harold?" He emphasized the last part, the only bit of information he had on the man in front of him. Not that Harold had any intention to change that.

"I know a lot about you and your brother, Mr. Winchester." Harold shifted from one foot to the other and back to his good leg.

"You know nothing about me." It came out almost on reflex with a cocky grin and the hint to drop it.

"The only matter of concern to me right now is the safety of my partner." Harold did drop it, there was no point on agitating Dean. He needed his cooperation, at least for now.

"Hey, Harold." Came Sam Winchester's voice over the ear piece. "You still there?"

"I'm with your brother at the phone now." Harold informed him and checked his own phone.

Four minutes and Mr. Reese's signal was still moving. Harold made sure that Sam was still on track, in fact he was closing in to the signal. They could only hope it led them to Ms. Martin and Mr. Reese. How often had he thought they'd found their perpetrator only to find the phone in a random car?

"They should reach their destination soon, Mr. Winchester." If she actually stopped to give them the call. John could be dead by now but Harold forced himself to not think in that direction.

"You know, this _Mister Winchester_ crap is really confusing." Dean spoke up. "And annoying. I'm Dean, he's Sam and you're Harold. Can we just go with that? Please?"

"Of course, Mr. Winchester."

Dean groaned at that. "Are you related to Cas or something?"

"I don't know anybody with that name." Harold answered but made a mental note to look into this later. After they'd rescued Mr. Reese and hopefully hadn't been shot by the Winchester brothers.

"You doing this on purpose?" Dean rolled his eyes but sounded more amused than annoyed and Sam only chuckled softly to that. Harold decided to ignore it for now. Instead he checked his phone again.

"Mr. Winch... Sam." He caught himself at the last moment but Dean just shook his head. "They've stopped."

Harold gave Sam directions through what looked like an industrial area when the phone next to Dean started ringing.

"I see them." Sam informed him. "Keep her talking until I get to her."

"Mr. Winchester." Harold raised his voice over the ringing of the phone. "There is no need to kill Ms. Martin." He felt the need to emphasize that part.

"Just don't let her touch you, Sam." Dean had his own advice for his brother but at Harold's confused look he just shrugged and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

He tilted the receiver, a clear invitation for Harold to listen in. Wary Harold stepped closer, suddenly very aware of the taller man's heavy built.

"Dean? Good to hear you." Ms. Martin's voice carried over to him. "Is Harold there, too? You didn't try any tricks on my, did you?"

"I'm here, Ms. Martin." Harold answered. "I want to speak to Mr. Reese. Now."

"You really don't know what you're dealing with." Harold wasn't sure if she sounded disappointed or amused. "I told you he's having a little nightmare."

"He won't come out of that any time soon." To Harold's surprise Dean spoke up.

"At least somebody is doing their homework." Rachel muttered. "Tell me, Dean, why are you wasting your time with amateurs?"

"Hell if I know." Harold felt Dean's gaze on him. "However, we want our man back."

"And you'll get him. I'm keeping my word. Like I told Harold, I'm trying." Her tone changed to something wistful. "I only kill what I absolutely need. You seemed like a good guy, Dean, back at the hospital. Can't you just look in the other direction? Just this one time?"

"Sorry, not as long as you're killing people." Dean actually sounded sorry, even moved by her little speech. Harold glanced up at him, not sure what to make out of the man.

There was a moment of silence before she spoke again. "I'm leaving the line open so you can hear him breathing. You'll find J..."

The line went dead.

* * *

John was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming because he was back at the airport.

In his dream he was kind of a spectator, just a silent presence among people hurrying from here to there. But there were two people, a small area of calmness in all that busyness, who drew his attention to them. He saw himself and Jessica and he knew he had to get to them before he could screw this up. Again.

But the second he set a foot in their direction, somebody bumped into him. And a woman crossed his pass, forcing him to make a side-step. Right into another person. Suddenly the airport was full with people, a loud, moving crowed and he was drowning in the middle of it.

He never lost focus on the two persons in the middle, though, where the light was softer and they stood alone in their own little world.  
John couldn't hear what Jessica was saying, too many voices, too many noises around him, but he knew what she said. Knew every word.

So he knew exactly when she said the key words. When she asked him, begged him, to ask her to wait for him.

"Wait for me!" John screamed but his voice didn't carry over to her. And the person in front of her, the person who should have said those words, that dumb idiot, kept silent.

John wasn't close enough to witness her searching, hoping look at him before she turned and left but he felt the heartbreaking intensity of it anyway.

"Wait for me." He and the image of his old, selfish self whispered as one.

Then the crowed swept him away and John had to fight to keep his footing.

The claws of the nightmare still buried deep in his mind John crawled back to consciousness. Here, tangled in the last threads of the dream but close enough to the surface to know it was a dream, John wondered why this was the only real nightmare that ever haunted him. The things he'd seen, the things he'd done. But it was always this moment. The moment that could have changed everything. That did change everything.

John opened his eyes but his mind was still too foggy to process what he saw. His mouth was filled with the bitter tang of chemicals – drugs? –, his body lay lead-heavy in the seat and John was close to just drifting off to sleep again.

There was somebody next to him, her voice an up and down, like waves, lulling him back to sleep. He couldn't place the voice – did he know her? – and he wasn't sure whose car he was sitting in or where he was and he probably should worry about that but his eyelids were too heavy and the seat too comfortable and with a sigh John settled back.

It wasn't a peaceful sleep waiting for him. As soon as he started to drift off again, the cold claws of the nightmare embraced him again. He fought against them but they just dug deeper into him, dragging him back to the land of nightmares.

Suddenly a scream pierced through his mind and for a moment he wasn't sure if it was part of the dream or real.

The second scream was real, full of pain and agony, and it lunched John right back into the real world.

He was in a car, a woman – Rachel? – in the driver's seat and a man with a bloody knife in the open door next to her.

John felt like he was under water, his movements slow, the noises dull, and he wasn't sure how he got out of the car and around to the other side but he grabbed the man at the shoulder right when he raised his arm to stab the woman again.

They went down in a heap of limps, the knife cluttering to the ground.

"John, stop." The man said while he easily blocked John's sluggish attempts to hit him. He knew his face but couldn't place it. But it came with a feeling of _enemy_.

They struggled and rolled over the ground and it was only a matter of seconds until the man would overpower him.

All of a sudden the other man's focus wasn't on him anymore and he didn't struggle to get away from John but from something to their right.

He probably should worry about that but his mind was still too dizzy to do more than to see an opening and react on it. His fist connected with the other man's temple and he went still under him.

"Thanks, John."

He looked up to find Rachel standing next to him. She swayed, close to doubling over, and he would stand up to help her if he only could get his own legs working.

With one hand she was clutching her chest. There was blood, a lot of it. Not good.

Where was his phone? He needed to call an ambulance. He needed to …

A second later he was still kneeling on the ground, the unconscious man – Sam Winchester, that was his name – next to him and tried to figure out what to do next.

A hand landed on his shoulder, nearly tipping him over. Rachel used him as a crutch to bend down to Sam. Almost gently she stroke his cheek, leaving a bloody trail.

"Tell Dean that I keep my promises." She spoke but the words were just noises to John. "I could have killed you both. Maybe … maybe … this is enough." She coughed and for a second she didn't look like Rachel anymore, grayish skin and hollow eyes and a grotesque attempt of a human face.

John flinched backwards but the hand on his shoulder held him in place.

"I'm sorry." She said and then her hand was on his face.

When John opened his eyes again, she was gone.

There was a car with the driver's door open and the seat was covered in blood. John blinked at the image and tried to make sense out of it.

He couldn't think. The world was spinning and his head was full of flashing images. Was Jessica here somewhere?

Out of the corner of his eye he saw something moving and turned his head just in time to see a man on the ground with his arm stretched out for a knife, also covered in blood.

John didn't know what was going on but when the man reached the knife, he went on autopilot.

Retreat. Regroup. Contact Harold.

John ran.


	9. Chapter 9

"Keys." Dean demanded, holding his hand out to Harold while he absently hung the phone back up.

"What?" Still dumbfounded by the suddenly dead line Harold blinked up at him.

"Give me the keys. We take your car." Dean repeated, now looming over Harold, just seconds from forcefully taking what he wanted, Harold had no doubt. "I'm driving."

Harold barely had time to get Bear in the backseat before the engine howled to life. Mr. Winchester clearly wasn't a patient man but right now neither was Harold. Mr. Reese and the younger Winchester could be dead by now and the way Dean drove, he was aware of that.

Harold could only hope they weren't too late. Neither Sam nor John answered their phones and at this point he would be happy if Ms. Martin picked up again. But all he got was ringing and voicemail.

In the backseat Bear made a whining noise, clearly sensing his owner's distress.

"What's with the dog anyway?" Dean asked without taking his eyes off the traffic in front him.

"I am currently associated with a dangerous mass murderer, Mr. Winchester." Harold opened his laptop and tried hard to not show his fear of said mass murderer right next to him. "Bear is here for protection."

For a moment it looked like Dean wanted to say something but then he just gave a sharp nod with the muscles in his jaw twitching.

Then he turned his head to have a look at the dog in the backseat. Bear gave him a doggy laugh with his tongue lolling out. Not exactly frightening, Harold had to admit.

Harold let out the breath he had been holding. Saying things like this so openly was risky but he'd figured this was the best way to deal with Mr. Winchester, letting him know that he knew who he was. And Dean hadn't killed him for it. Yet. But for now Dean kinda needed him to find his brother so Harold figured he was safe for the moment.

"So, you read my file?" Dean's attention was back on driving.

"Yours and your brother's, Mr. Winchester." He checked the location of the phones but they hadn't moved since the interrupted phone call. Which meant what? "Turn right."

"And still." Dean smoothly maneuvered the car through the traffic. "You came to us for help."

"You seemed to be the lesser evil at that point."

They fell silent for a while and Harold had to admit it was an almost comfortable one. They both worried about somebody close and Harold couldn't help but feel somewhat connected to the other man. Just like John and him the Winchesters didn't really have anybody else. With the difference that Harold and John weren't murderers.

"Try Sam again." Dean suddenly spoke up, drawing Harold out of his thoughts. If Sam was able to use a phone right now he would have called his brother, they both knew that, but Harold tried anyway.

"Voicemail." He said with a resigned sigh and tried another number. "Same with Mr. Reese."

Dean nodded to that, he'd probably expected that much, and put his foot down on the accelerator.

They still had at least an eight minutes drive ahead, maybe six the way Dean was driving, but it was still too long for Harold's liking.

"Who are you guys anyway?" Dean changed the topic with a curious look at Harold.

The question wasn't unexpected, however, it surprised him that it came up now.

"You're no hunters." Dean continued when Harold failed to answer immediately. "But you were after Rachel." He paused, thinking. "Or were you after us and Rachel just got in the way?"

Dean threw him a side-glance while Harold's mind was still on the term _hunter_. Did the Winchesters see themselves that way? It did sound better than vigilantes, though.

Harold pondered what he should tell the other man. So far Dean had played along, had helped him, even when he had no reason to do so. Quite the opposite, the Winchesters should appreciate the fact that one of their enemies was out of the picture. But they didn't.

Dean didn't come across as the maniac he was supposed to be. And Bear liked him. The dog had good instincts when it came to people.

There was still the video of the killing spree in the diner. No matter how nice and caring Dean seemed to be, Harold kept that side of him in mind.

"We knew Ms. Martin would be in danger." He finally answered the question without elaborating how they knew. For some reason he didn't want to lie to this man. He wouldn't tell him the whole truth and he was far from trusting him but Harold decided to be as open as he could be.

Dean just snorted to that.

"At that point we didn't know she was a serial killer." Harold admitted.

"Serial killer?" Dean threw him an almost amused glance. "That's one way to put it."

Harold ignored that and had a look at the laptop again.

"We should be there in a minute, Mr. Winchester."

There was something Harold needed to address before they confronted Ms. Martin and he was running out of time. Gathering all his courage he spoke up.

"When I spoke to Ms. Martin earlier." He began but wasn't sure on how to continue.

"Yeah?"

"I think she wants to stop." Harold didn't look at him. "I know you think she's a monster and for some reason she plays right into that but I really think she wants help. She said she was trying to stop killing people but couldn't."

"What are you trying to say?" Dean asked, his expression carefully guarded. However, Harold was pretty sure the other man knew exactly what he was trying to say.

"There is no need to kill her." There, he'd said it. "We should hand her over to the police, I know somebody we could call in." Detective Carter was only one phone call away.

For a long moment Dean didn't say anything.

"Let's find our people first." Dean parked the car. "There's the Impala." With that he was out of the car and already peering through the window of the other one before Harold could even open his door.

"Sam's not here." Dean informed him when he finally joined him with Bear's leash in a tight grip.

"That should be Ms. Martin's car." Harold had spotted it around the corner of the building. Like he'd guessed this was an industrial area but it was long out of use. Weeds had broken the concrete, tagged walls and broken windows, a good place to get rid of a hostage. One way or another.

"Stay behind me." Suddenly Dean was in front of him, a knife in his hand. It was a rather odd weapon but this way he couldn't just shoot Ms. Martin at sight, Harold guessed and didn't object.

The car was abandoned, the door on the driver's side open and blood on the seat. Harold hurried to look the other way while Dean had a closer look.

"This your friend's?" He came up with a phone.

"Yes." Harold took it and had to readjust his hold on the leash because Bear wanted to get closer. With his head low between his shoulder and a deep growl in his throat the dog stood between the open door of the car and Harold.

"I'd say Sammy got her but not good enough." Dean straightened up and had a look around the place. They were surrounded by empty buildings.

"Sam?" Dean yelled and then stood in silence, waiting for an answer. Which didn't come.

"Super." He muttered and washed a hand down his face. Then his eyes fell on Bear who still growled at the bloody seat. "Looks like he doesn't like what he smells."

"I'm not sure why he does this." Never before had Harold seen the dog reacting this strong to something else than a person holding his owner at gunpoint.

Dean nodded like he knew exactly what the dog was trying to tell them. "He any good at tracking?"

Whoever was bleeding, most likely Ms. Rachel, needed help fast. And chances were good to find the others in the same place. Harold reached down and clicked the leash off Bear's collar.

"Zoek!" And with that the dog went off.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Harold who already hurried to keep up with the dog.

"He only responds to Dutch commends."

"Of course he does."

They probably could have followed the blood trail without Bear's help, somebody was losing a lot of blood, but with his help it was way faster. And they needed to be fast. Harold only hoped it wasn't John's blood they were following. It wasn't likely but they needed to find John first to know for sure.

Their short journey ended in what used to be an office.

Dean pointed at a bloody hand-print on a filing cabinet and once again stepped in front of Harold.

They found Ms. Martin pressed in a corner, her clothes soaking with her own blood and Bear standing over her, ready to rip her apart.

Dean reached for the dog's collar and dragged him backwards. Getting the hint Harold clicked the leash back on.

"Where's Sam?" Dean crouched in front of her. How she was still alive Harold had no idea but she meant no danger anymore, that much was obvious.

"Who?" She visibly teared her eyes off Bear and then looked up at Harold. "Who's that?"

"I'm Harold." He gave her a smile. "Don't worry, we're getting you help." He reached for his phone to call 911 but without even looking at him Dean swept it out of his hand. Same with Mr. Reese's.

Realization dawned on her face. She let her head fall back against the wall with a laugh. The sound bubbled in her chest and the laugh came out with splatters of blood.

"Four hunters?" She asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Only me and my brother." Dean answered. "The others are civilians stumbling in on something."

She licked the blood off her lips and for a second she didn't look human at all. Harold rubbed his eyes and the grotesque thing was gone. Must have been a trick of the light.

"Where's my brother?" Dean repeated his question and Harold added: "And Mr. Reese."

Dean adjusted his position and the knife in his hand caught her attention.

"Please." She begged. "They're alive, please, I just had to get away."

"You touched them?" Dean asked. By now Harold had decided to just listen, he felt like he was missing huge parts of the story here.

"They'll be fine when they come out of the nightmare, I swear." Her eyes were still on the knife.

"You know, I like you, Rachel." Dean said with a sigh.

"Please, I just want to live." The words came out stronger now and Harold wondered if she wasn't as badly injured as he'd first thought.

"Can you live without killing people?"

"No." Eyes on the floor she shook her head.

"I'm sorry."

"You know." Rachel coughed and fresh blood covered her lips. "The weird thing is, I think you really are."

Harold couldn't see Dean's face but to him he sounded sorry, too. Sincere. After seeing the man killing in cold blood it was unexpected to see him showing empathy to say the least.

"How often did Sam get you?"

"Four." She looked up at Dean with tears in her eyes.

After the calm talking Harold got caught by surprise with what happened next. Without a warning Dean lunched forward and buried the knife to the hilt in Rachel's chest.

"No!" Harold screamed but he was too late.

Rachel arched under the knife and she flickered between her human figure and something else entirely before she slumped down, looking human once again.

"Mr. Winchester?" Harold stared at the body but it had stopped changing. "What …?"


	10. Chapter 10

For a long moment nobody moved.

Lost for words Harold stood there, eyes fixed on Rachel's dead form. She looked human now but he would need time to convince himself he hadn't seen what he thought he saw. Because that was impossible.

Still in his crouched position, knife dangling in his loose fist, Dean didn't move either.

It was Bear who finally broke the eerie moment. With a low whine he inched forward and wormed his head under Dean's left arm. Absently the man scratched him behind the ear before he let out a sigh and stood up.

"Didn't look that horsy after all." He tried to joke but when he turned around to face Harold, there was no humor in his eyes.

"Mr. Winchester." Harold tried again. "What did just happen?"

"She wasn't human." He said, hand still on Bear's head who stood now pressed to the man's leg. "She was a Nachtmahre. Feeding off people's life force through nightmares." He thought about that for a second before he nodded as if he wanted to shake something off. He wiped the blood off the knife with a tissue before he put it away, not sparing a glance in Ms. Martin's direction.

"Let's find the others." With that he stepped past Harold. "Sam!"

Harold couldn't move. He couldn't tear his eyes off the body in front of him, didn't dare to blink in fear of missing a flicker of the other thing.

He must have been hallucinating. A drug maybe. Mr. Winchester must have drugged him. The witness reports from his file came to mind. People claiming the Winchester brothers had saved them from some...thing.

"Harold?" Dean was at his side, a comforting hand on his shoulder and Harold didn't have the strength to pull back.

"What did you do to me?" He had been drugged before but this was different. He didn't feel like he was under the influence of something. And except for the one moment he'd seen Ms. Martin change into …, there hadn't been any other hallucinations.

"Look, man." Dean wanted to go and find his brother, that much was obvious, but his voice was calm and emphatic. "I know this is hard to take in. Blame me if you want. Call it a trick of light. I just killed an innocent woman if that helps you sleep. I don't care. But right now my brother and your partner are out there. They're caught in a nightmare they can't just wake up from and we have to find them. Now. Are you with me?"

Harold nodded and finally turned away from Rachel.

"It wasn't a trick of the light, was it?" It would have been easy to explain it away and if it had only been this one glimpse he'd caught he would have explained it away. But that wasn't the only fact pointing in this direction. He couldn't dismiss the data only because he didn't like the outcome. He couldn't.

"No." Dean shook his head. "I'm sorry."

Harold opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by a scream.

"John." He recognized the voice. As did Bear. The dog took off running.

* * *

John ran. At least he tried to. If his legs would cooperate.

He stumbled over his own feet and landed face first on the broken concrete. Everything was blurry. The sun was too bright, the blood rushing in his ears too loud. And he couldn't think. His mind was packed in cotton, all fluffy and gray without something to hold on to.

Behind him the man shouted something but John couldn't make out the words. If they were words. Could have been just a guttural sound. Something primeval for _the hunt is on_.

John pushed himself up, skin of his palm scraping off on the rough surface but it was a distant feeling. He had to move. Now.

Behind him the other man came closer. John risked a glance over his shoulder but his vision was blurry. The shape of a tall man. There was blood on his clothes, bright and fresh, and it dripped off the knife in his hand.

John gritted his teeth and ran.

He crashed through a door into a building. The light was dim in here and John sighed in relief when the sun stopped cooking his brain through his eyes.

He tried to listen if anybody was in here or if the man was still following him but all he could hear was his own blood rushing and his harsh breathing. Wiping sweat off his face with a cold hand, John made a careful step deeper into the building.

A whisper.

A shadow moving.

John swirled around, lost his balance and went down. Where was his gun?

"Tell me to wait for you."

Jessica?

John licked his lips and used an empty barrel to get back on his feet.

_Get away from the door. Hide somewhere. Sort this out. You can do it._ John nodded to himself and let go of the barrel. He half expected to go down again – What had she done to him? Who? He couldn't remember. – but he stayed on his wobbly legs and managed a few steps farther into the room.

Phone. Where was his phone? She'd taken it, along with his gun. Right. Rachel. Who didn't look like Rachel. Or had that been part of a dream? A nightmare?

John shook his head to get rid of the foggy mess in there and made another step. He made it across the room, not even stumbling over the scrap metal lying all around, through a door and another room and another door.

It felt like he'd been stumbling around for hours but he wasn't sure. Could have been only a few minutes. He was tired. Why was he so tired? He should just lay down and sleep.

Rachel. She'd drugged him. Took his gun. Took his phone. The man stabbed her. The man. Sam, his name was Sam, he was out there. Still had the knife. The knife he'd stabbed her with. And John didn't have a weapon. And he was tired. Where was Harold?

He had picked up a metal bar – not the best weapon but it was a weapon – he was sure of that but now his hands were empty. For a moment John stared at his empty hands, willing the bar to come back, but dropped them to his sides when two hands swam apart like four.

He was so tired. He needed to sleep. Sleep it off, whatever it was.

In the end gravity made the choice for him. Stairs, only a few steps, three maybe four he wasn't sure. He could do it. Clinging to the remains of the banister he set one foot down. And then everything went downhill from there. Literally.

* * *

Harold had no chance keeping up with Bear and Dean so he just hurried after them as fast as he could. He didn't want Dean to reach John first, that man had killed somebody in cold blood only a minute ago, but there was nothing he could do about it. At least Bear was with him, Harold could count on the dog to protect his owner.

The dog led them to a building on the other side of the small place where Rachel's car stood. When Harold reached the door, broken open a long time ago, he had no idea where to go from there. He stood in a hall with three different doors and no sign of John. Or Dean and Bear for that matter.

"Mr. Reese?" Harold asked into the eerie silent room.

"Over here." Came the answer from Mr. Winchester. Harold hurried in that direction, worried about the fact that John hadn't answered.

Now he heard a muffled voice, Dean's, but he couldn't make out the words. Harold followed a short hallway and when he turned left at the end, he found them.

_John's dead_, Harold thought and a cold fist clenched deep in his stomach. He lay at the bottom of some stairs in a puddle of blood. And wasn't moving.

Bear sat next to him with a low whine in his throat and the way he inched forward he wanted to check on his owner himself but was held back by Dean.

"He's breathing." Dean informed Harold without turning around. "That got him on his way down."

He nodded towards the banister. It was missing bars, giving the impression of broken teeth, with one snag just sticking out far enough to catch one's leg if he wasn't careful. It was covered with blood.

"John?" Harold came closer to have real look at his friend.

"He's unconscious. Or sleeping." Dean said as if that should comfort him. "Probably both. Cut his leg open, maybe a concussion. I doubt he broke his spine or skull but you better get him checked out by a doctor."

He fished one of the phones he'd taken from Harold earlier out of his pocket.

"Here, call an ambulance." He stood up and absently patted Bear's head. "Let them do some x-rays, just to be sure. If he doesn't wake up any time soon, it's the Nachtmahre, don't worry, it'll wear off after a few hours."

Harold took the phone but didn't dial. "What are you going to do now?"

"I have to find Sam. And I'd like to get out of here before the place is swarming with police." He made a few steps but then stopped. "Aren't you calling it in?"

Harold's mind was racing. He couldn't bring John to a hospital, too risky, he needed somebody else. Off the record, no questions asked. Where to? _Think, Harold._

"Harold?" Dean was at his side again. "What's wrong?"

"Officially we don't exist." Harold said, mind still racing but coming up blank. He wasn't sure if the other man got the meaning behind this. "And what we're doing isn't exactly legal."

Dean nodded as if he understood. Thinking about it, he did. The Winchester brothers were in the same situation, they knew. And wasn't that ironic.

"Okay." Was all Dean said before he turned back to John. With skilled fingers he went over his skull and neck. "I can deal with the gash and a concussion. If there's more you have no other choice than a hospital."

With that he scooped John up and had him hanging over his shoulder a second later. John groaned but didn't wake up.

"What are you doing?"

"I get him in your car." Dean started walking. "Then I'm going to find Sam. And then we're going back to the motel where I'll take care of his wound."

Harold doubted that was a good idea but by now Dean was around the corner and half-way down the hallway.

"You're not a doctor." He shouted after him. But neither was John and still, he'd proven that he could take care of minor injuries by himself just fine. Came with the job, Harold guessed.

Aside from the murder John and Dean were much alike, he had to admit.

Thinking about murder brought the image of Rachel back, stabbed and bloody and pretty much dead.

Had it really been murder? Harold wasn't so sure about that anymore but he'd need time to think this through. After they'd taken care of John.

Dean laid John down in the backseat of Harold's car in a swift, practiced move.

"I've a first aid kit in my car." Dean straightened. "You put some disinfection on the cut and wrap it up. That should do until we can take care of it. Meanwhile I'm going to find Sammy."

Bear stayed back, keeping watch over his owner, while Harold followed Dean to his car. He didn't like this at all but he didn't have a choice either.

"Why are you doing this, Mr. Winchester?" He asked but instead of an answer, Dean pulled his gun out. He didn't point it at Harold, though.

"Stay behind me."

It took Harold a moment to notice what had gotten Dean's attention. The back door of his car was ajar. He couldn't remember clearly but he was pretty sure it had been closed when they'd arrived.

Dean crept closer, gun trained at the door. But then he lowered the gun with a stifled laugh.

"Aww, isn't this cute?"


End file.
